The Time When the Serpent Ruled
by xainziha
Summary: Logan Piers is a young wizard who will be tempted by the most powerful wizard known to the wizarding world. He befriends a motly bunch at school and watches over the years as they are tempted to become the very first Death Eaters.
1. Chapter 1

_This is going to be a story (hopefully a rather long story) about the young death eaters from the first wizard's war. I wanted to get an idea as to how Voldemort first gained his army of death eaters and what would make such young students turn to his side. If you think about it Regulus Black had only just graduated 'high school' when he gave his life to the cause. This will be a story starring my own main characters but featuring Regulus Black, Severus Snape, and various other death eaters as his friends. It may be slow going but will get more serious as the characters age in a similar way to the real Harry Potter books. The updating may be slow going but I have no intentions to stop writing, as I have all seven years planned out. _

* * *

_I am going to be horrible about revisions I'm afraid. I have combined some of the chapters together so that there is a more even flow in the story, each chapter being around 3,000 to 3,500 words. I am still writing this, as well as my other story, but I have a lot of things going on in my life so I have little time to write for fun. The updates may come quicker when I return to school, as I'll be forced to sit at the computer writing for longer lengths of time. This can be my outlet for procrastination._

_I do not own Harry Potter or make any profit in any way from this work. The letter received from Hogwarts was taken straight from_ the Sorcerer's Stone._ I own my origional characters, though, and hopefully you'll like them as much as the origional ones. _

* * *

Hogwarts is a magical place where only the most talented of students go. If you aren't invited don't be let down, it is only a peculiar sort that attends the school. The sort with magic.

Logan Piers was not sure whether he would be going to school that year. Well rather _what_ school he would be going to that year. His mother was a witch, you see, although not a very good one. She took too much time tipping back the bottle and not enough time brewing up the bottle to be good at what she did. Ms. Piers ran a tiny apothecary at the edge of an even tinier village. Not many people came by but when they did they usually bought her love potions. She could concoct a lovely enchanted first date for a small sum even if she couldn't follow through with a second evening of the like for a customer. Her magic was only so strong. Yet it provided enough gold combined along with their vegetable garden that mother and son had survived, if not prospered, through the years.

Logan's father had been absent since he could remember, only a faint whisper of pipe tobacco and muddy denim lingering in his mind. He had been a muggle and upon learning of Miss Yvetta Piers' proclivities he had left to go wander a world more suited to his rational. There were times when Logan wondered whether or not his father had really loved the two them or if his mother had merely brewed him into submission. It was a fleeting thought; Yvetta Piers could only ever stir up one night of bliss for a man and woman.

So Logan's father had no magic and his mother was talent-less and Logan had yet to show a shred of magical inclination in all his eleven years. He felt he was doomed to leave his mother to her cottage and garden and wander as aimlessly as his father. That was until a cloudy Monday morning in mid summer with the winds kicking up the dandelion puffs all over the lawn.

"Hello Mrs. Rosewittiker, may I get you your usual rheumatism serum," said Logan to the woman with the flowered cowl on her dress who had just rung through the cracked door.

"You are such the good boy to mind your mother's shop for her, dearie. My son's children would never do such a thing, not that he would either for that matter, but they are always wasting time playing those arcade games of theirs. They should be out in the sun like you dear boy. Oh yes, don't think I didn't see you walking up Cobber Street yesterday with mud caked on your trousers yet again young man. But a dirty boy is a boy who's staying out of bigger trouble I'll say," said Mrs. Rosewittiker touching all the bottled herbs and unguents along the wall. Her hands were always busy and she had dropped her fair share of bottles in the shop over the years.

"Mother made this one especially for you," Logan said trying to get her away from the breakables. "She added the lavender because she knows you like the sent."

"Lovely, just lovely dearie. _Oh my heavens!_" cried Mrs. Rosewittiker.

"An owl?" said Logan to himself as he couldn't be heard over Mrs. Rosewittiker's wailings.

An owl indeed. It had flown in through the open door and rushed towards the counter. A large gold letter fell from it's talons and bounced from the till to the floor where it stayed until Mrs. Rosewittiker was calmed and the owl gone. The poor thing had been fazed by Mrs. Rosewittiker's purse as she attempted to beat it upside the head.

"Foul creatures, they'll give you rabies they will," said Mrs. Rosewittiker in parting. She'd have a tale for her bridge partners later that week.

Only when she'd left Logan had dusted the envelope off and given it a better look.

It was an ordinary letter although it was made of a golden heavy parchment rather than the stark white envelopes that muggles favored. It was addressed specifically to him and not his mother. Logan's heart began to pulse harder in his chest at this fact. He was used to receiving mail at the cottage for his mother but never for himself. Could this be…?

A drop of sealing wax told him everything his heart had desired to hear. That deep purple wax was crossed with four incongruous animals and the letter H. It made Logan suck in his breathe as he slide his finger under the lip of the sealed letter, slowly, so as not to get cut. Awaiting him within the envelope was two pages of a spidery script in emerald green:

Hogwarts School

_of _Witchcraft _and _Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, _

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dr. Mr. Piers,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted

at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed

a list of all the necessary books and equipment

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later

than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall.

_Deputy Headmistress_

Young Logan Piers had gripped the pages for so hard and so long that they had become crumpled and damp under his sweaty hands.

"I have magic," he whispered.

"I HAVE MAGIC!"

* * *

Yvetta Piers had not been as ecstatic as her son upon receiving the letter. Aside from a sly smile her only reaction had been a rather thoughtless comment.

"So you aren't broken then," she'd said.

While Logan had shared the same sentiment as his mother he didn't like hearing it come from her lips. His enthusiasm waned even more when he learned how much it was going to cost just to go to school.

"I don't have any of the books left from my day; threw them all out when I moved in with your father. You can't have my cauldron either, I'll need that to make a living for us while your off. Dragon hide," she remarked. The list irritated her severely. "Why can't they just make due with hinky puck gloves? They're just as good!"

Logan worried over the money until it gave him stomach pains. His mother would always insist that he never worry over money troubles as it was the business of adults not children but it bothered him none-the-less. He stayed awake nights fearing that they wouldn't have enough money to get by and he wouldn't be able to attend the prestigious school.

"It's decided," his mother announced one morning over a breakfast of hot cinnamon oats.

"What's decided?" Logan asked.

"You're uncle is going to take you shopping for your supplies. He was down right shocked when I told him you'd been accepted into the school. Said he didn't believe me. Might have even contacted some of his higher up connections to see if it was true, the prat. He doesn't believe that magic carries very well when you breed outside the pure lines. Well, we showed him alright," said his mother.

Logan had never met his uncle or any close relative for that matter. His mother had ostracized herself by her choice in life partners, a venture that had not paid off in her favor. The young wizard began wondering what his relative would be like. Would he have the same dark hair that Logan and his mother shared? Would he have bright eyes like Logan or the dead grey ones his mother owned? Logan wondered if his uncle favored Sheppard's pie.

It was a stiff knock at the door that alerted Logan of his uncle's arrival that Thursday afternoon. Hyperion Piers had come promptly at 12 o'clock, exactly as he'd promised. His appearance was turning his sister into a nervous, unbearable wreck for she hadn't seen her brother in almost eleven years. Logan avoided his mother all day due to her foul mood, though he himself was full of anticipation over meeting his uncle. He felt the culmination of all the tension of the week come to a climax as he opened the door.

Hyperion Piers did not look a bit like his young nephew had envisioned him. He was a large man with a barrel of a chest and a belly as round as a drum. "I don't have a six pack," Hyperion would say jovially, "I carry around my own keg."

Logan's uncle was tall as well. He was taller than his sister by over a foot and dwarfed his young nephew who would never grow to be very tall. Beyond Hyperion's stature was his abrasive personality. He had been raised off fine veal, eaten from a silver spoon well past his childhood, and was now the prosperous owner of a wizarding company which provided top quality compost for the herbalist on a budget. So despite the fact that Hyperion Piers dealt in dung he always thought of himself as the most important man in the room. It was this sort of elitist attitude that made him unbearable to most people. Hyperion chose to dress impeccably in dark clothing that was never out of style and cropped his dark hair close to the root. Logan believed him to be intimidating and weirdly approachable and that was exactly how Hyperion Piers wished to come across to people.

"You must be Yvetta's lad," were the first words Hyperion ever said to his nephew.

"Yes, that I am," he answered. The two shook hands.

"Well then stand still. Let me get a good look at you. Hmm, on the scrawny side but fixable. We'll put some meat on your bones, my boy. You're hair is too long. Where on earth does your mother get it cut? Yvetta you're maltreating this boy," Uncle Hyperion called into the house.

"I do very well by him Hyperion. He's whole and well, and he's a better boy than you were at his age. Not that it's any of your business. It's been long overdue that you should take an interest my son," Yvetta said.

"Aren't you going to invite me in to your lovely home?" Uncle Hyperion asked smugly.

"Since when have you ever waited for an invite before coming in? Thinks he owns the world," said Yvetta Piers to no one in particular. She called Logan over and smoothed his already perfect hair for him.

"Now you be good for your uncle today, not that he deserves it, and make sure he doesn't just buy the cheapest robes you can find. He's a right spendthrift when it comes to himself but not to others, the greedy twat," his mother said, and with that she gave him a quick hug and a kiss and shoved him out the door.

"I've borrowed a car from a college of mine," Hyperion Piers told his nephew as he ushered him from the doorstep.

His uncle must have borrowed a driver as well because they sat together in the backseat of the large black car and watched as the village disappeared behind them. Logan found himself unable to start a conversation as he was a rather shy lad, a trait he fortunately did not share with his uncle.

"I'm afraid I didn't properly introduce myself, I am Hyperion Hephaestius Piers. From the Piers clan quite obviously," he chuckled. "I own Mandrake's Choice which is a fertilizer company of the finest class. Now I don't know much about dirt but then you don't need to know much about dirt to sell it. You need good business skills and connections, and it doesn't hurt to have a couple acres of land in South America for premium mulch."

"Fascinating," Logan managed.

"Well, my boy, I don't have any sons of my own so if you don't plan on going into your mothers business," he chuckled a second time, "you might choose to give the _real _family business a one two. Hard work is the most satisfying work to be found, yet the time will come soon when I'll wish to reap the benefits rather than the drudgery. I do hope you'll consider joining us when you're through with school."

Although he was not that old Logan was certain that collecting dung was not what he wanted to do with his life. He nodded anyway, to his uncle's pleasure.

"That's the spirit I like to see, my boy, but look we've arrived already! Out we go now," said Hyperion.

The two stepped out into the street and walked into a rather shabby little pub. It was called The Leaky Cauldron and from it Logan and his uncle grabbed a chicken sandwich each because Uncle Hyperion stated that he himself was "a tad bit peckish".

Their journey from there on became the most wondrous of Logan's short life. The boy had never been to Diagon Alley or any real wizarding village because his mother was such a shut in. He did enjoy getting packages from owls and other winged beasts carrying assorted ingredients for the apothecary, but it in no way compared to the street filled with shop after shop of magical supplies. There were crowded shops smashed tightly one after the other along Diagon Alley. Customers in robes of every shade of color imaginable bustled in and out of the shops, although black seemed to be the most popular color. Logan felt out of place in his button up shirt and trousers.

"Let's begin with your school robes as that will take the longest. Do you have your list with you?" his uncle asked.

"Yes, right here."

"Good, good. It's been years since I've had to go school shopping and I'm bit excited to tell you the truth. I always did like the smell of fresh parchment and new leather."

Logan changed his mind about the excitements of school shopping thirty minutes in. He did not like standing ramrod straight while the woman from the tailors took all his measurements. She tutted and rebuffed him for being so thin while Uncle Hyperion shouted at her to let the robes out a bit.

"I'll make sure he grows into them!" he'd told the girl.

The experience was made better when Logan's uncle let him pick out a silver cloak clasp that looked just like a snake. Uncle Hyperion was proving to be much less frugal with his money than his mother had anticipated. They left the shop and went to a crowded bookshop all a flurry with activity.

"We need _Hexes and their Counterparts_ by Symmetrius Higgins and _Things Not To Do With Your Wand_ by Dennis Coffrey," shouted Logan through the din.

"Those will be for your Defense Against the Dark Arts class. _Is there an assistant to be found in this bloody store?_" his uncle finally said to the staff as his temper reached its peak.

They collected all ten books on the list including: _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore, _Mastering Potions: Lvl. 1 _by Belladonna Wont, and _A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration _by Emeric Switch.

"You should enjoy Transfiguration class, my boy. It was my favorite subject although I was a fair hand at Potions too," said Uncle Hyperion looking fondly at the books.

After being jostled and tossed from shop after shop Logan was pleased to find himself at his favorite store of the day. It was called Pot Watcher's Emporium and held every potions ingredient known to the wizarding world all shoved into one tiny space. Uncle Hyperion did not favor the shop because his large belly continually knocked herbs from their overflowing shelves every time he turned about. He excused himself and left his young ward there with a sack of gold while he stepped out for "a bit of air".

Logan was drawn to the more unusual of the shop's items. He knew how to spot nettle sprigs and milk thistle and horse chestnut twigs without plaques or nametags. It was the things he had never seen before that roused his curiosity. There was a delicately bottled tincture of sorrow on a shelf too high for Logan to reach held in a beautiful glass phial, and acromantula eyes blinking wildly in a jar behind the counter. The shopkeeper noticed the boy's interest and brought out a large bleeding parcel from the backroom. Some of the blood splattered Logan's robes as the clerk dropped the heavy bundle onto the table.

"Fresh chupacabra, imported directly from Peru," said the shopkeeper as he began manhandling the package open. "Blood's a great substitute for vampire in any healing potions. Only eight galleons a pint, just for you lad."

"Thank you sir but I've only come for school supplies," said Logan quickly. He hurried out as fast as he could and joined his uncle in the street.

"Only your wand left I see," said his uncle.

The two drew up to a narrow store with gilded gold letters peeling in the sunlight. They read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. Just upon entering a woman and her blonde headed child exited through the door. Logan wondered if she'd be a classmate of his that year.

"Yet another new customer it seems," said a serene voice upon their entrance.

Mr. Ollivander the store owner was putting away rejected wands from the previous customers. With a flip of his own wand the boxes tidied themselves and flew off to their designated shelves.

"Hyperion Piers," said the man to Logan's uncle, "Pleasure to see you again. Took us ages to find the correct wand for you…thirteen-and-a-quarter inches, made of ash, remarkably unbendable wasn't it."

Logan had a feeling that Mr. Ollivander was not asking a question. The shop owner had made Hyperion Piers grow rather silent which was a thing Logan believed to be very uncommon.

"Who do we have here? Your son?" said Mr. Ollivander turning his piercing eyes upon Logan.

"Nephew," grunted Uncle Hyperion.

"Wonderful. How kind of you to take your nephew shopping. Well then, Mr. Piers, let us get started," said Mr. Ollivander, and it was only once a magical measuring tape had appeared and began taking his measurements that Logan realized Mr. Ollivander was addressing him and not his uncle.

"Which is your wand arm? Hold it out now, very good. That's enough," said Mr. Ollivander and the measuring tape dropped to the ground at the order.

"Start with this one. Willow and unicorn hair. Eight and a half inches. Quite Pliable. Just give it a swish now. No, no, no," said Mr. Ollivander taking the wand.

Logan was not sure what whipping the wand about in the air was going to accomplish. He was never allowed to touch his mother's wand and the whole business felt rather silly to him. When Mr. Ollivander produced a new wand for him he took it without comment, that sharp gaze quieting any questions he might have.

"Spruce and dragon heartstring, ten inches exact, slightly bendy."

This one produced a shake of the head from Mr. Ollivander and nothing more. After a dozen more wands Mr. Ollivander remarked that he, Logan, may just give his uncle a run for his money.

"Shall we try something more unusual? Elder with phoenix feather. Nine-and-a-quarter inches. Firm," said Mr. Ollivander. Uncle Hyperion gave a yawn as this, too, proved unsuccessful.

"You say you've never done magic before?" Mr. Ollivander questioned Logan for the second time that day.

"Not the slightest, but I do help my mom around the shop. She runs an apothecary," Logan told the shopkeeper.

"Hmm, this one is hawthorn and phoenix feather. Nine and three-quarters. Supple. Usually I wouldn't present a hawthorn wand to a late bloomer, but give it a twirl," said Mr. Ollivander.

Upon grasping the wand Logan felt something, a tingle running up his arm. He made a wide circle with the wand and out came a silvery fog obscuring the shop from him. Logan heard clapping from Mr. Ollivander and a sigh of relief from his uncle.

"Excellent, excellent. I'll wrap it right up for you but if you have any trouble bring it back at once. I'll swap it out for something less finicky. Hawthorn is known to backfire on greener wizards," said Mr. Ollivander. Logan then paid seven galleons to the man before his uncle rushed him out the door.

The sky was dark when they left the final shop and Logan was getting sleepy. The car and driver were still waiting outside of The Leaky Cauldron making Logan wonder if the driver had stayed there all day or had returned from somewhere at Uncle Hyperion's call.

"We just had ourselves a long and full day," said Uncle Hyperion who was nearly as tired as his nephew. "I have informed your mother that I would come to collect you when your classes start. I shall take you to the train station on the first of September, but be ready the night before. I have no time for dawdlers."

It was a short drive back and Uncle Hyperion had departed swiftly after receiving Logan to his mother. He'd said he had dinner waiting with the missus and Yvetta Piers had remarked that he had no missus, just who did he think he was kidding. She'd been drinking cheap fruity wine all evening and you could smell it in the air.

Logan's uncle had bid a final goodbye to his estranged sister and tipped his hat to his nephew.

"September the first," he reminded Logan before disappearing into the night.

There was ripe goat cheese to eat at dinner that night.

"I hate goat cheese," said Logan pushing the white spheres to the far side of his plate.

"You're just like your father," said his mother. She absentmindedly chewed a slice of the cheese. It went well with the wine she was drinking.

Suddenly Logan had lost his appetite for everything on his plate, not just the cheese. He rose from the table and cleared his dishes before holing himself up in his bedroom. On his quilted bedspread lay the spoils of his outing: one pair of dragonhide gloves, size small, a simple pewter cauldron, four cloaks all in black, a brass telescope, a nice set of scales for measuring ingredients and glass phials to put them in, ten books as specified by the letter, all but one of them new, and his wand. In addition he'd also been gifted a winter cloak bearing what his uncle had specified as 'real werewolf fur' along the edges. "Can never be too fashionable," he'd stated. Logan had put this item in the bottom of his trunk and had avoided touching it as much as possible.

After arranging all his possessions in his trunk Logan settled himself into bed and began to dream sweet dreams of the days to come. Magic! Logan could not wait until the 1st of September.

* * *

_Thanks for reading, please review._


	2. Chapter 2

_Slight revisions, yet again. Sorry about that but when I reread anything I want to change things. Little things with dialoque and the like as I get to know the characters better. _

_I do not own Harry Potter or profit in any way from these writings. Some dialogue from Prof. McGonnagal and Hagrid may be taken directly from _the Sorcerer's Stone. _Origional characters by me may not be used without my permission. I hope you like them though!_

* * *

"Your uncle will be here any minute sweetie, hurry it up," called Yvetta Piers to her son early on the first of September.

"Coming," he said, although his answer was muted by a bed ruffle. Logan had been saying goodbye to all of the housecats and currently had the top half of his body wedged under his mother's bed, where a particularly fat tabby refused to come out from. He gave her a last pat on the head and hurried out to fetch his things.

Logan's trunk stood ready and waiting for him in his room. He had been so full of anticipation the night before that he'd rearranged the contents of it five times before going to sleep. A knock on the door signaling the arrival of Uncle Hyperion came from below as he clamored down the stairs with the monstrous trunk.

"He's always so early," said Logan's mother. She opened the door and told Hyperion that they were coming.

"First dragon gets the feast," replied Uncle Hyperion in a chipper voice.

"Hello Uncle," said Logan to the large man in the doorway while he dragged the trunk down the last of the steps.

"Splendid, boy, splendid. You're all packed and ready to go. Put some muscle into it now, that trunk can't be _that _heavy can it? Ah, good. I'll have the coach take it form here. Oddsworth?" shouted Uncle Hyperion, "Put this in the trunk would you?"

"Did you borrow the car again Uncle?" Logan asked.

"Borrowed one from another friend, yes. It's important to be well connected my boy, you'll see that once you enter the world. Now if we're all ready let's be off," said Uncle Hyperion.

"Wait just a minute Hyperion. I haven't said goodbye to my son yet," said a perturbed Yvetta Piers. She grabbed her son and led him back to the steps for a bit of privacy.

"I'm going to miss you so much," she said to Logan, pulling him into a hug.

"I'll miss you too, Mom," said Logan.

"Do what your uncle tells you, and listen to your teachers."

"Of course I will, Mom."

"You're coming back for the holidays."

"Okay."

"And I don't want to hear about you getting into any trouble young man! Oh, let me get a last look at you," Yvetta said pulling her son back and grasping his face between her hands. She gave him a final kiss on the forehead before sending him off towards his uncle.

Logan found he was going to miss his mother terribly. She'd spent their final week they were together making all of his favorite foods and had closed the shop early each day so they could spend more time together. His mother had even let him riffle through the ingredients that she kept locked behind the counter for special customers only. Among the stash were bundles of dried hungry grass, doxie eggs, pixie larvae, ground dragon's scales, and even one large dried out hippogriph tongue. Logan had been allowed to take enough to 'play around with'.

The car ride was longer than the previous one. It gave Logan plenty of time to think while Uncle Hyperion droned on about unimportant things.

"…in Zanzibar but that's another story altogether. Told him that woman was no good, but nooo, does anyone listen to me? Not when I'm giving good advice, it seems…"

Logan was worried he wouldn't be as good as the other students. When he'd been accepted Logan had found himself filled with overwhelming joy. But now…what if he didn't have enough magic in himself? What if he was as good as a squib? Would they kick him out of school, expel him for being a failure?

"…as a prototype it was a failure but it produced some surprisingly good results. 'Course we thought Wilkins would never walk again but you have to take one for the team now and again, don't you?"

There was also the increasingly prominent fact that Logan would be away from home for the first time in his life. Logan had never been good at making friends, although part of that problem had been social stigma. Though his mother tried to give Logan everything he needed there were no cool points to be found by wearing second hand clothes to school and eating leftovers out of a paper sack at lunchtime. Yvetta Piers was also gossiped about, being the town drunk who sold love potions at the top of the lane, and other kids taunted him for it. Was he a weirdo just like his mother?

"…don't think it'll happen even if you are a bit soft, my boy. That house just isn't in our blood."

"What did you say, Uncle?" asked Logan.

"Humph. I was just saying I hope that hat doesn't sort you into a house unworthy of the Piers' name. As if a Piers was ever a Hufflepuff, or worse."

"Oh, schoolhouses. Mom said she was in Slytherin. Were you in Slytherin house, too, Uncle?"

"Yes, I was indeed in Slytherin. You'll find the best of the best in Slytherin house, and lifelong connections as well, my boy. You keep that fact in mind; it is never too early to start networking."

"Is Slytherin a friendly house then?" asked Logan, hoping that it would be easier to make friends in a house that was welcoming of newcomers.

"Joining Slytherin is like joining a brotherhood. The people you meet there hold the same ideals and morals that you yourself do. It will be like returning home to family, my boy," answered Uncle Hyperion.

"That's great Uncle," said Logan, and it really was. It put his mind at ease for the rest of the trip.

Once at King's Cross station in London the two found the correct platform with ease. Uncle Hyperion had told Logan "just barrel on through, don't stop, that's the ticket!" when it came time for the young boy to cross the barrier to the train.

The Hogwarts Express stood gleaming brilliantly in the sunlight. Students milled about saying goodbye to their parents and saying hello to all the friends they'd left behind the year before. There were feathers wafting in the breeze from so many owls atop student's trunks. Multicolored smoke rose from the chimney of the train as it sat waiting impatiently for the students to embark. Despite arriving early Logan saw it was already becoming quite packed. All the energy was making him excited so he bid a quick goodbye to his uncle.

"I'll do my best, Uncle," he said.

"That you had better, for the family name if not for your own wellbeing," said Uncle Hyperion who gave his nephew a solid handshake. Despite his sometimes harsh demeanor Logan felt he was going to miss his uncle as well. He was becoming a familiar face.

"Here you go, my boy, a parting gift. Just make sure you write and update me on your schooling. Anything you request shall be provided, as long as you keep up your grades," added Uncle Hyperion. The tall man produced a silk purse clinking with coins from his pocket and set it in the boy's hands. Later, when Logan opened it on the train, he found it was overflowing with over twenty shining galleons. That was more money than he'd owned in his life.

"I will try my very hardest, thank you," he said to his uncle. At that the two parted ways; Hyperion Piers back to London, and Logan to the train.

The train was filling with students at an alarming rate but Logan found a compartment in the middle that was vacant. Not long after stowing his trunk a boy about his own age joined him.

"Hello," Logan started nervously. His new companion was a rather stunning young man already dressed in wizards robes that were well tailored. He let off an air of casual elegance that can only come from old money. His hair was black and so in turn was his name.

"Yes, nice to meet you, I'm Regulus Black," said the youth. The boys nodded at each other.

"Is this your first year?" asked Logan.

"Oh, gosh, can you tell?" answered Regulus. He blushed most aristocratically.

"Nah, it's just I'm a first year as well. I was just hoping you were too."

"Yeah, it's my first year. I've been waiting eleven years for this day. Finally, to be out of that house," he joked.

The train let out a whistle and began moving along. It jostled the luggage and notified the lingering students in the hall to find a seat to occupy. A group of three boys all dressed in silver and green came tumbling into their compartment.

"This one's got room," shouted one of the boys.

"Well lookie here, ickle first years holding down the fort for us," said another boy. He had a shaved head which was a bad look for him considering that his skull was rather lumpy.

One of them, the greasiest of the lot, stopped and started eyeballing Logan's companion.

"Are you Sirius Black's brother?" he demanded angrily.

"What's it to you?" said Regulus to the hostile older boy.

"C'mon get it going first years, this is our spot," said the bald-headed boy.

"Merlin, would you two stuff it, they weren't bothering anybody," said the first boy.

"Shut your trap, Rosier, they were bothering _me_," replied the bald boy to his friend.

"Don't worry, we were just leaving," Logan said to the intruding group. Regulus reluctantly joined him in the hallway, closing the door on the three older students harder than necessary. The greasy one was still glaring at Regulus.

"Ugh, my brother's in a compartment near the back with his cronies, let's see if there's any seats left up front," said Regulus and so the two boys started forward.

It took a good looking for but they finally found a compartment with a bit of room left in it close to the front of the train.

"Can we sit here," asked Logan politely to the occupants. The two girls in the compartment looked like they weren't happy with the idea of more people in their spot but one of the boys ushered the two waylaid first years in happily. The cabin became pretty crowded at that point but only the girls seemed to be upset about it.

"Sorry, we're new and a bunch of jerks kicked us out of our spot," Logan explained.

"No worries here mate, we're all newcomers in here. Name's Bertram Aubrey," said the boy who'd ushered them in. He was a large sort of fellow reminiscing what Uncle Hyperion would have looked like at age eleven or so. The boy gave Logan a friendly pat on the back with one of his large hands as a greeting.

"Yeah Raneg was just about to show us his toad," Bertram told Logan and Regulus. One of the girls snorted behind her hand, not nearly as impressed by this as Bertram was.

"It's a horned Shambhalan toad, they're really rare," said the boy called Raneg who Logan was now sitting next to. He was small like Logan and foreign judging by his accent.

"Let's see it then," said Regulus. He seemed as enthused as the girls: toads were universally known to be lame.

Raneg surprised them by lifting out one of the ugliest looking creatures Logan had ever seen. It was a small brown lump in a toad-ish shape with little pearly bumps covering its skin…and how they pulsed! The frog also had little horns just as it's name had promised. It was slimy and gooey, and it took one giant leap from Raneg's hand and landed onto one of the girls sitting across from him. A trail of goo followed.

"AAHHH, get it off me!" the girl screamed.

"Snuck a cobra in my trunk, too," said Raneg to Logan just loud enough for him to hear.

The girls fled the compartment while Raneg and Bertram sprang up to capture the toad. Regulus meanwhile was doing his best to not touch it. Bertram caught it with a grand splat and gave it to Raneg to stow away once more.

"Interesting," said Bertram. It was an understatement.

Although none of the boys was fit to eat after seeing all that slime, a witch with a trolley full of every goody imaginable chose that moment to come by.

"Would you boys like anything from the trolley?" she asked.

All four boys grabbed as much as they could carry and sat down to their unhealthy feast. Logan was particularly hungry for the sweets since he never had much pocket money growing up.

"I only ever get to eat these on my birthday," he said ripping into a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"Rough mate, is your mother one of those helicopter moms that that never let's you have any fun?" asked Bertram.

"Sorta," said Logan.

"What is a helicopter?" asked Raneg through a mouthful of cauldron cake.

"It's a flying contraption muggles use. My cousin is a muggle and that's what he calls his mum," Bertram explained.

"But your parents are both magical, right?" said Regulus.

"Yep, although my mother _is _muggle-born," said Bertram.

"Bad luck mate; I hope you'll do alright at school. I've heard said that the more contaminated your lineage is the less raw talent you will have. I happen to be a pureblood myself," said Regulus proudly.

"Now just where did you hear that?" asked Bertram who was keeping his calm quite unlike Logan. He was hearing his worst fears come to life. Was his blood really muddled?

"My father," said Regulus. Bertram didn't seem to think this was a reliable source.

"You should read _The Source of Magick _by Linda Brisby, she's well-renowned in her field. I used it in a research paper one year for school. It was very enlightening," said Bertram.

"Yeah, well, whatever," retorted Regulus.

The topic changed as the train chugged along but Logan's fears refused to leave his alone. He couldn't strike it from his mind that he was inferior and contaminated. He felt he would give anything not to be a talent-less embarrassment to his family. For so many years he had believed that he was, that he'd had no magic. Now if only he had the normal amount of magic that other children did.

"I think we're here," said Bertram.

It was dark outside the train. The wind blew strong and the students pulled their cloaks tightly around their arms. A lantern bobbed up and down in the night like a will-o'-the wisp while a voice called out from the mist.

"Firs' years? Firs' years this way. Follow me now," boomed a giant of a man with a tangled beard.

Logan followed as he was told and was led to an enormous lake with inky black water promising to swallow each of them whole in the dark of night. Beyond the lake was a castle, complete with towers and spires rising high into the air. The castle sat high atop a mountain with the lake water lapping at its feet. The sight took Logan's breath away.

"Beau'iful innit," said the beast of a man leading the group. "Boats over there, no more'n four to one, ya hear!"

It wasn't a moment after Logan, Bertram, Regulus, and the small foreign boy, Raneg, had climbed into one of the boats that the fleet took off, gliding into the night. The water rippled out creating patterns on the dim surface of the lake. Logan wondered what sorts of creatures lived below in the chilled belly of those dark waters.

"Heads down!" shouted their guide as the fleet reached the cliff. The boats flew under a tunnel where an underground harbor lay. Logan was the first out of their boat, wetting his sneakers in the water.

The group of first years were led all the way up a passage and to a steep set of stone steps. After knocking on the large oak door at the top the gigantic man led them into an entrance hall as large as a house. The magnitude of the castle sunk in for Logan in that moment, who lived in such a small cottage with his mother.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said their guide to a tall woman with a sharp bun who wore jewel toned robes. She looked very strict to Logan and he hoped that not all the teachers at Hogwarts would be so intimidating.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here," she said.

A cacophony of noise could be heard from a door on their right but the Professor did not take them there just yet. She held the group off to give them a quick speech before introducing them into the hall where the rest of the school sat waiting. Logan found himself not listening to a word she said as the moment grew closer and closer. The moment when they'd be sorted.

"I better be in Slytherin," whispered Regulus into Logan's ear. Logan was yet unsure of which house he belonged in. He was certain that he didn't want to be in Hufflepuff though, mainly due to his uncle's reaction. How on earth could he write home saying he was sorted into Hufflepuff?

"Do I look presentable? I'm one of the first up, you know, and everyone will be watching. Nothing on my face?" asked Bertram.

"No, you're good," said Logan. His insides were twisting up now. To think everybody in the whole school would be watching this!

"Alright quiet now students. Form a line. The sorting will begin in a moment," said Professor McGonagall.

Logan had time for a few deep breaths before McGonagall's sharp voice rang out. "Follow me everyone," she said.

* * *

_Like it? Don't like it? Have a suggestion of how you want the story to continue? Just be awseome and leave a review!_


	3. Chapter 3

_I don't own Harry Potter or profit in any way from these works. I do own my origional characters, and my sorting hat song. Some dialogue from Prof. Dumbledore may be taken directly from _the Sorcerer's Stone.

_I fixed the food at the feast to match the U.K. a bit better. So hopefully that helps it feel more canon. _

* * *

The hall was impressive to say the least. A starry sky was domed overhead and Logan wondered if it was a glass ceiling or if there was a ceiling at all, the stars moved. Hundreds upon hundreds of candles floated in the air, lighting the room with their soft glow. Every student in the school was seated at one of four tables, one for each house at Hogwarts. Long banners were on the walls in the four colors of the houses as well; red with a brilliant lion for Gryffindor, a rich yellow with the Hufflepuff badger standing against it in black, the sweeping eagle of Ravenclaw adorned the blue tapestry, while a silver serpent stood out from the emerald colors of Slytherin house.

At the end of the hall a fifth table held the teachers of Hogwarts school. Professor McGonagall lead the students to stand in front of it to face the other four tables of the great hall. Logan could see glimmering plates and goblets at each table, empty, and began to realize how hungry he was despite the turning in his stomach. Another reason to get this over and done with.

In front of the line of first years was a small innocent stool with a ragged hat on top. The leather was cracked and caked with mud; it looked like a dog had drug it through the herb garden.

Suddenly the hat moved and one of the cracks opened to form a mouth, and from that mouth came these words spun into a song:

"_The day that I was sewn together_

_Long ago in ages past_

_The founders needed someone clever_

_And gave to me a task_

_They sought a way to see inside_

_The mind of every boy and girl_

_Each had traits that they did pride_

_So take me for a whirl_

_I'll tell you if brave Gryffindor_

_Would have you in his house_

_It was nerve and daring he called for_

_Those whose chivalry would rouse_

_If that's not true than you may seek_

_The lair of Ravenclaw_

_Who found the ones with minds unique_

_To be the greatest draw_

_Or maybe yet you'll find a place_

_Among the loyal and the true_

_If that is you then Hufflepuff's embrace_

_Is what you can look forward to_

_Last of all there are those_

_Who hold ambition deep within_

_If it is cunning your mind shows_

_Then you will dwell with Slytherin_

_So put me on and have no fear_

_I am good at what I do_

_And from your mind it will be clear_

_Which house you belong to."_

When the hat finished the room lit with noise as each student at their table began to clap and make any ruckus they could, pounding on the tables or banging their plates. The hat bowed to each house and the hall quieted in return.

The professor stepped forward with a long list in her hand. It was time to try on the hat.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," said Professor McGonagall. "Ael, Jennifer!"

A slender girl with short brown hair haltingly picked up the sorting hat and placed it on her head. She sat still, gripping the stool when it unexpectedly burst out-

"RAVENCLAW!" it said, and the shaky girl, all elbows and knees, plopped the hat back on the stool and joined the Ravenclaw table. Her new housemates cheered her on.

"Aubrey, Bertram!" called Professor McGonagall. Bertram hadn't been kidding when he said he'd be one of the first ones up. Logan felt a surge of hope, thinking that maybe they would end up in the same house.

It was almost upon impact that the hat rang out another, "RAVENCLAW!" and Logan had to let the hope slide away. He didn't think that he belonged at the table with all of the smart kids, although Bertram certainly looked at home.

"Bing, Xui-Li!"

An Asian girl went over to the hat and shoved it fast onto her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" announced the hat.

The Gryffindors made more noise than the Ravenclaws had made, and they seemed like a rowdy bunch to Logan. They came across like the types of students that always interrupted class or roughhoused in the halls. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be in their house.

"Black, Regulus!" shouted Professor McGonagall.

The boy gracefully swept the hat up before it clamored out, "SLYTHERIN!"

Regulus joined the Slytherin table with a few catcalls from the Gryffindor table, someone there must not have liked Slytherins. The students from Slytherin house seemed very well off, with refined looks and expensive robes. Maybe Logan would like the house that both his mother and uncle had gone to?

"Creswell, Dirk" became another Gryffindor, instigating more loud cheering, and it wasn't until "Finchfeather, Lisa" that Hufflepuff got their first new student. They shouted with relief and open arms when she came to sit at their table. The list rolled on.

"Gamp, Eleanor!""SLYTHERIN!""Greengrass, Lois!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Heddlelock, Peregrin!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Heimes, Abner!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!""Helevan, Ava!""RAVENCLAW!"

The names were all blurring together and Logan was losing track. Every name meant one step closer to him finding out who he'd be spending the next seven years with.

"Monkshod, Harriet!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Or maybe the hat wouldn't work. What if he hadn't enough magic to make it work and the entire school watched as it was revealed to them that he, Logan Piers, was a fraud?

"Peddy, Chip!"

A broad shouldered youth with blonde hair put the hat on. A good long moment passed before it shouted out, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

It was going to be his turn soon.

"Pererecas, Raneg!" moved to take the hat. It slipped over his entire face.

"SLYTHERIN!" it cried. Raneg ran to join the cheering students at Slytherin table.

"Piers, Logan!" shouted Professor McGonagall and Logan barely heard his name. He rushed to make up for his pause and jammed the sorting hat onto his head, clutching it's brim.

"Afraid are you? Not Gryffindor, then, certainly not Gryffindor," a voice in his head said.

_I am _not_ scared_, he thought contrarily to the hat.

"Perhaps not, and you do have a thirst for adventure. Kindness in abundance as well. Ah! But your greatest desire, such a strong will to prove yourself to the world. It's easily decided-SLYTHERIN!" shouted the hat.

Logan rushed forward to join the Slytherin table with great relief showing on his face. He took a seat between Regulus and an older boy who gave him a stout handshake. Regulus was cheering so loud that Logan couldn't hear where the next few students were sorted into.

The three boys that had dislocated Regulus and himself from the train were seated further along the table next to a silver specter, covered in shining stains that could only have been blood while he'd been alive. Logan caught eyes with the ghost and quickly averted his gaze. He didn't seem like the sort of man to get caught staring at.

"Schminkey, Joel!" walked to the hat with three long strides.

"GRYFFINDOR!" said the hat.

"Eat it!" shouted Joel to the other students as he made his way to Gryffindor table.

"That will be enough, Mr. Schminkey," said Professor McGonagall in a curt voice.

The number of students dwindled. Logan watched as one of the girls he'd seen on the train ("Stebbins, Charity") became a Hufflepuff, while another girl ("Stevens, Acacia") was sorted into Gryffindor house. A regal looking black boy named Ebony Troy gave Logan his first chance to cheer with the rest of the Slytherins.

At long last "Yates, Clementine" was sorted into Ravenclaw. Professor McGonagall rolled up the parchment full of names and carried the sorting hat away.

Logan's mouth was incredibly dry. He hoped they would be served something to eat and drink soon.

A man from the main table rose. He had long hair and an even longer beard of shining silver, both reflecting the yellow of the candlelight. Half-moon spectacles were poised on the edge of his crooked nose and he had dressed in vibrant purple robes with impeccable flair. To Logan the man held an air of importance.

"Headmaster's about to talk," he heard one student say.

Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts headmaster, beamed at the students. He spread his arms an openhearted greeting to the new students.

"It is my great pleasure to welcome you all to a new year at Hogwarts!" he said. "Before we begin our banquet I only have one thing I'd like to say to you all: toupée!"

"Let the feast begin!"At this students and teachers alike clapped and cheered. Dumbledore seated himself and partook of a large swig from his goblet. The plates in front of each student filled magically with every kind of food you could imagine. Roast chicken and marinated duck, healthy servings of greens and an unfortunate plate of over-boiled cabbage, and delicious looking pork chops sitting of a pill of roasted apples. There were carrots and peas, black sausages and cottage pie, and even a full rack of lamb with a dish of jiggling mint jelly sitting next to it. Logan began piling his plate with mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes, topping it off with a slice of pork roast dripping with juices.

"Don't choke on it!" said Regulus as he gave Logan a sharp slap on the back.

Logan managed a weak "thanks" in return.

"So the headmaster is the one in the purple robes, right?" he asked his new friend.

"Yes, and I believe my father was right about him. He says Dumbledore is off his rocker, that he always has been. I mean you heard the speech didn't you? That doesn't sound like someone who has all of his eggs in his basket if you know what I mean," said Regulus. He was persistently devouring a steak that took up a good two thirds of his plate but had been doing a better job of cutting it up than Logan had done with his own food.

"Who's the fatty?" asked Raneg pointing to the teacher's table. Sitting between Professor McGonagall and a thin teacher with sparkling pink robes was a man who looked remarkably like a walrus. His fleshy face was hidden by a full mustache, under which he'd been shoveling crystallized pineapple into.

"That's Professor Slughorn the Potions teacher and the head of our house. He could do with losing a couple pounds sure, but you'd do best not to say that around him. Not unless you want to get on his bad side; his detentions are the worst," answered one of the third years.

There were many odd looking characters sitting at the teacher's table. Dumbledore had his long beard and crooked nose, Professor Slughorn with his immense tummy. Logan noticed the man who led them across the lake, the one nearly as large as a giant, was now sitting at the table eating. His moleskin coat could have been made into a circus tent. The third year continued pointing out teachers for the first years' benefit.

"That's Professor Flitwick, he teaches Charms," said the third year. Flitwick was a breathe of a man, so tiny he needed extra padding on his chair to reach the table. "And that's Professor Noxus, who teaches Astronomy; she wears those pink robes to every single feast."

"Who teaches the Dark Arts?" asked an excited Regulus.

"_Defense Against _the Dark Arts," corrected the third year. "I think it must be the chap in the grey robes. The school can't seem to keep a defense against the dark arts teacher for very long, and I don't see why. Can't be that hard of a job can it?"

Across from them an outraged Troy was banging his fists on the table.

"What do you mean we can't play Quidditch until second year?" he demanded.

"You can still practice on the pitch if the teams aren't using it. 'Ay, Wilkes, can the first years use the Quidditch field?" said Troy's neighbor.

"We weren't even allowed to bring our brooms so why would we be allowed on the pitch?" asked Regulus, joining in on the conversation.

Raneg was oblivious to the Quidditch talk, shifting his eyes about to see if anyone was noticing that he'd begun pilfering food from the welcoming feast. He had filled his pockets with pumpkin seeds and crackers which would undoubtedly turn to crumbs before the night was up. Logan could only hope that they were for that toad of his and not anything worse.

"You ate with the Slug Club!" a boy was saying to the freckled Lois Greengrass. "No way! You have to invite me in sometime, tell Slughorn that I'm your best friend!"

Logan had just finished the last of his baked beans when his golden dishes were wiped clean of food and every desert you could ever crave was put before his eyes. Students crammed ice cream and cookies and all sorts of petite cakes onto their plates. Logan heaped spoonfuls of butterscotch pudding onto his own plate all the while eyeing a large slice of chocolate pie. Perhaps if he had room later.

"I'm downright thrilled I got into Slytherin, not that I thought I wouldn't, but seeing as how my brother ended up in Gryffindor I wasn't one-hundred percent certain. He's always been the black sheep of the family, but it still had me worried," said Regulus to Logan. "That's him, right next to that redheaded girl."

Over at the Gryffindor table four boys sat together pestering a pretty ginger girl from time to time. She didn't seem to mind their attentions too much, only giving the boy in glasses any real glares. It was easy to see which boy was Regulus's brother as the two looked so much alike.

"The redhead girl is very good-looking," said Raneg with his strange accent. Logan was apt to agree with him.

"My brother is a complete prick. He posted all these Gryffindor posters and banners all over his room with a permanent sticking charm just because he let down the family by getting sorted in to that rubbish house. As long as it infuriates our parents he'll do it. Mother says she must have brought the wrong child back from the hospital," said Regulus.

"Doesn't seem likely, he looks just like you," said Logan.

"Yeah, I know. Too bad though, if it were true we could just kick him out of the house," said Regulus.

"Do you have any other brothers?"

"Nah, just the one. But I have a ton of cousins."

"Cool. It was only every me and my mom, I would have loved a bunch of cousins to play with."

"We never got to do a whole lot of playing, when we all got together it was usually for some sort of event, like a dinner or a ball. My mum made us be on our best behavior. It was really boring to sit there with your back straight and your mouth shut, trying to remember which salad fork was appropriate for Jell-O. But when all the adults let us go wild we usually had enough people for a proper Quidditch game. It's a pity we didn't get a chance to play more often, I was better at Quidditch than Sirius. It was the only thing I could really beat him at."

Logan didn't think all that etiquette training had been wasted on Regulus, who had glided through dinner looking like a prince. While many of the other students (himself included) had pigged out on the feast looking like fools, Regulus had composed himself and ate his meal at a proper pace.

The night was winding down and Logan found himself yawning into his goblet. The last traces of desert were whisked away from the dishes and Professor Dumbledore stood up for a final word to the students.

"Now before we head off to bed I have several start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. The forest holds many dangerous creatures and we cannot be held accountable for any unforeseen accidents that may occur there, of which there are many.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, Hogwarts caretaker, to remind you that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held the second week of the term. If you are interested in playing for your House team then please contact Colonel Whizbanger.

"And now let us sing the school song!"

Logan mumbled through the verses, so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open. Raneg's singing helped keep him awake. It was so off key that even the ghosts stuck their fingers in their ears.

"Seeing as how some of us can hardly stay on our toes, I bid you all a good night!" Professor Dumbledore ended. The students left the Great Hall in swarms.

"First years this way!" called a Slytherin prefect to the straggling first years. She led them out of the Great Hall and down into the bowels of the school. Deeper and deeper they went, and Logan was not sure if he'd be able to find his say out come morning. Several of the girls must have felt the same way as they held each others hands so as to not get lost. Every so often the students would walk by elaborate paintings whose inhabitants moved and greeted the first years as they passed.

Just when Logan felt he could walk any further the prefect stopped in front of an unseemly brick wall. It looked like all of the other walls to him and he didn't understand why the prefect had chosen this patch of dungeon to stop at.

"All right, first years, this is the entrance to our house quarters. If you'll look closely you can see that this brick is sticking out sideways, you can hit your palm against it if you were to lay it flat on the wall. Every couple minutes it will blink in the dark, so if you aren't sure this is the right spot just wait a minute and it'll go off. There see, like that," said the prefect. Indeed the brick had glowed a subtle green for a moment.

"You'll need to give the password to get in and it changes every fortnight so keep an eye on that. It'll be on the message board or one of us prefects can give it to you. The password right now is 'Rigor Mortis'."

At these words the bricks began moving not unlike the bricks in Diagon Alley. Before long an entryway was formed leading into a glowing dungeon. It was gorgeous, with low hanging lanterns casting light upon the stone walls. A mixture of low backed and high backed chairs were seated across the dungeon, most filled with students still catching up from the feast. Dark wood cabinets held various baubles and many old books that must have been left there from years and years past. At the center of the room was an enormous fireplace filled with a crackling blaze to warm the cool dungeon. The common room had an air of grandeur to it, Logan felt he had never been in a more extravagant place.

However the most amazing thing about the room was not it's furniture or lights, it was the heavily draped windows circling the room. They did not look out upon the Hogwarts grounds but to the very depths of the lake. It was breathtakingly eerie and it filled the room with a lavish green light.

"What took you blokes so long? Did you take them all the way around the labyrinth, Jenkins?" asked a female prefect to the boy who'd led them through the dungeons.

"Of course I did, it's tradition," said the prefect, who was now getting chastised by his friend.

"They'll never find their way back here, you prat," she said.

The first years were shown which way their dormitories lay (girls on the left, boys on the right) and each made their way to bed. Logan, Regulus, Troy, and Raneg each found their belongings laying at the foot of a grand four-poster bed. Raneg's trunk rattled suspiciously.

Logan pushed aside his heavy velvet curtains, dyed a deep emerald color, and face-planted onto his pillow. Without another thought for the day he tucked into silver embroidered sheets and slept like troll until morning.

* * *

_Did you like my sorting hat song? _

_Please review!_


	4. Chapter 4

_The second half of this chapter is entirely new material. I don't believe that I have written Prof. Sprout correctly so I may return to change her dialogue, I may not. I realize that Madam Hooch could very well have been teaching at Hogwarts this far back but I still wanted to introduce a new teacher. My high school had only a handful of the same teachers that my father had when I attended it, even though we both went to the same one. _

_I do not own Harry Potter or profit in any way from writing this. Origional characters are mine, directly from my own head matter! How they got in there nobody knows. _

* * *

The next morning began with the awful dinging of Troy's alarm clock. He had been the only boy to set one the night before, and would be the only one to do so for the entire year. It was loud enough to wake up the second years down the hall.

"UP! Wake UP! Brush those TEETH! You'd better get a hurry on it or you'll miss breakfast!" the alarm clock hollered at Troy, who seemed to be an expert at ignoring the shrill voice.

"Merlin, shut that thing UP!" demanded Regulus. Logan finally walked over and threw the clock at Troy's head.

"Hey, it's not supposed to do that for five minutes yet!" cried Troy.

Already out of bed, Logan decided to get dressed. He put on a brand new set of black school robes, sure to use his silver cloak clasp in the shape of a snake. It had been a good omen to buy that unassuming fastener, like a good luck charm. Logan was very glad his uncle had gotten it for him.

Regulus and Logan started up to the Great Hall without the other two. Troy was still lazing in his bed and Raneg had just begun removing his curtains and was using them to ward off a corner of the room. The three Slytherins let him, knowing full well that they didn't want to go into the corner of the room which would become a makeshift terrarium for the many amphibians that Raneg had snuck in his baggage. Logan was not at all certain what exactly Raneg kept in that corner, except that it made very strange sounds in the night.

The boys tailed a group of older Slytherins heading up out of the dungeons and found that it was easier to find the Great Hall than previously imagined. The prefect last night had really taken them for a spin.

Regulus and Logan sat down amongst their fellow Slytherins and grabbed a bite of toast and jam. Logan looked over at the Ravenclaw table to see if Bertram was awake yet. The larger boy gave him a quick wave which Logan returned.

"Looks like Herbology will be our first class, how boring," said Regulus. Each boy had found a parchment bearing their week's schedule pined to their schoolbooks that morning. Logan wondered if someone had crept in their room at night to put them there or if they just appeared by magic.

"At least we'll get to use our wands in Charms today," replied Logan. He'd said this to cheer Regulus up as he himself was truly terrified at using his wand. Logan didn't want to find out that he was the worst at magic on the very first class of the very first day.

Herbology took place out in a greenhouse behind the castle. The boys woke up quickly in the morning air which still savored the very end of summer on its breath. A mixture of Slytherin and Gryffindor students formed around several small buildings which were filled to the brim with greenery. Pomona Sprout, their teacher, was waiting for her new students outside greenhouse one.

"Everybody here? Everybody awake? Wonderful, let's step inside class," she said cheerily.

The students followed Professor Sprout into the greenhouse. It smelled earthy and alive, and was filled from top to bottom with a large assortment of growing things. A bag of Mandrake's Choice sat opened near the doorway to Logan's chagrin.

Professor Sprout called for the noise to desist and began her start of the term speech, "We won't always be in the greenhouses but I always feel it is important to start classes off with a feel for what Herbology is. Now I know many of you don't think this is an important class," at this Logan elbowed Troy in the ribs, "but Herbology is essential for any witch or wizard. Especially for those of you who plan to go into potions making in the future.

"Now, it is also important to know which plants could kill you just by walking by or eating them. This guy behind me," Professor Sprout motioned to the large plant next to her, it looked like a large Venus Flytrap and it was eyeing the Professor hungrily, "He is what we call a Venemous Tentacula. We don't often keep him greenhouse one but I wanted you all to get an idea of why Herbology is just as deadly a class as all the others."

At this Professor Sprout opened one of the chests near the wall and pulled out an entire side of ribs fresh off some sort of pack animal. The Venemous Tentacula ate them in one bite, almost taking Professor Sprout's hands with them.

"Mooncalf, and rather expensive," she said. "It is fortunate that Venemous Tentaculi don't need to eat very often.

"If everybody would join me in gloving up we'll get a bit dirty today. Don't be afraid of the dung, a little dung never hurt anybody," said Professor Sprout. One of the Gryffindor girls seemed to be disagreeing with this statement.

"Today we'll be plucking leaping toadstools and putting them in these buckets," said the Professor, holding up some large white containers. "They're a tad tricky, and just as their name states they will jump up as soon as they are separated from the colony. Fungi are interconnected through their roots."

Logan pulled his gloves on and reached to grab a handful of the fungus. As soon as he pulled them from the dirt they took off in seven different directions leaving him and Troy to run after them.

"No more than one at a time! At least not until you get better at it. Stevens, stay away from that Tentacula! Now don't be afraid to get acquainted with the equipment, only the Tentacula bites," shouted Professor Sprout to the class.

By the end of the period Logan had only gotten four of his toadstools into the bucket and would never find out where the other three had run off to. Troy, despite using his dragon hide gloves, learned that he was allergic to the toadstools after he began sporting a purplish rash along his arms. Professor Sprout sent him off to the infirmary declaring that she hadn't seen anyone get a rash from Leaping Toadstools since _she _was in school.

Charms was less eventful than Herbology class that day. After being seated a sprightly Professor Flitwick had given his own lecture as to how Charms was just as important as any other class. It seemed to be a thing that all teachers did.

"I want you all to start out with a simple incantation," said Professor Flitwick. "It is one of the most useful spells you can learn and even full-grown wizards may use it daily. The simplest lighting charm, _lumos_, may be the most practical way to make a light.

"I want you all to pay attention and watch me before trying it yourselves. Ahem, _lumos_," he said. The wand, held perfectly still, lit like the end of a match producing unwavering light.

"All right then, everyone give it a try."

All around the room shouts of _lumos_ went out.

"Quit shaking your wand, you're gonna hit me," said Logan to Regulus, who was now showering him with flying sparks.

"_Lhumos_, _lhuuumos_," said Raneg. His accent was not aiding him in any way with his spell.

Logan took a deep breath and held his wand still. _I can do this_, he thought.

"_Lumos. Lumos. Lumos,_" said Logan. On the third incantation his wand gave off a steady glow of light.

"Excellent work, ten points for Slytherin," said Professor Flitwick as he passed by. The light from his wand continued to stay strong.

It was then that Logan felt like he was where he belonged. He could do magic just as well as any of them could. He was not an imposter.

Logan would have considered his first day of classes a strong contender for the best day of his life had it not been for Peeves.

After picking up Troy from the hospital wing and taking turns being grossed out by the rash still remaining on his arm (it was now growing little toadstools which Madam Pomfrey assured would fall off overnight), the boys took to the Quidditch field in hopes of getting a bit of practice in before nightfall. On their way there Logan had finally admitted his embarrassing secret, that he had never even touched a broomstick let alone flown one, to his new friends.

"I can't believe you've never played Quidditch before," said Troy shaking his head sadly. "That's downright blasphemy."

"My mother wasn't a fan of contact sports, or any sports for that matter," said Logan sheepishly.

"Man, and I thought my mum was bad," said Regulus.

"No need to worry though, mate, we'll get you up and flying before the week's over," said Troy eagerly.

"In my country we do not fly broomsticks, we fly on enchanted carpets. They are much more comfortable in my opinion," said Raneg, gaining a glare from Troy.

"But you can still fly, right?" he demanded.

"Yes, of course, but trust me on this. The carpet is much preferable than the broomstick," said Raneg causing Logan to wonder, not for the first time, what country Raneg had come from.

"Oh yeah, I'd pay to see you score a goal on one of those rugs, _and _I bet you I'd get to keep my money," said Troy.

"You may be a big-shot when it comes to your own games but we'll just see who wins in a game of carpet race," Raneg retorted.

"Sounds lame, mate, very lame," said Troy.

"Is not lame," muttered Raneg who chose to pout alone rather than continue the conversation with Troy.

Upon arrival on the field the boys saw a handful of Gryffindor students already using the pitch, easily recognized by their vibrant red robes. Troy scuffed the ground in vexation, as he'd been looking forward to flying and not sharing the pitch. Although there were not enough people in the air for a proper practice the sidelines were filled with a number of girls Logan had seen that morning in Herbology. They were ogling the eye-candy zooming across the field. There was one particularly tall Gryffindor that had caught his attention from the first time Logan had seen her at the feast. She had long, softly-curling brown hair and a wide smile. She was smiling now, watching intently as the Quaffle made it through one of the goals.

"'Oy! Off the field now, you lot! No first years allowed on the pitch," cried a stocky block of a man as he came up from the other side of the field. The Gryffindor captain was doing his best to keep up with the squat man, despite his longer legs.

"Great, Whizbanger's here," said someone.

"We were just watching," said the girl Logan had been gazing at. Like every Gryffindor she was standing her ground.

"Which you can do in the stands, young lady," said Colonel Whizbanger. He had a mess of disheveled hair surrounding his head with a bald patch in the middle that shone as if the man had intentionally polished it up. He also had a grey mustache which matched his grey beard, both long and bushy, and stubby fingers which were pointing to the bleachers for the first years. The broom that the colonel held in his hand was twice his height. Logan believed he was more fit to do cannonballs than fly through the air on a broom.

"I'm getting to the bottom of this," said Troy taking off towards Colonel Whizbanger. None of the Slytherin boys joined him, as the Colonel was already shouting at Troy for stepping on the Quidditch pitch.

"First years off the field!" yelled Whizbanger. He waved his hands in exasperation as Troy ignored him and strode up with a lazy swagger.

"Good afternoon Mr. Whizbanger. If may introduce myself, I am Ebony Troy. I merely had a question for you, if you wouldn't mind enlightening me," bled Troy with extra sugar in his voice.

"It's _Colonel_ Whizbanger," said the perturbed looking coach.

"Forgive me, _Colonel_, but I was wondering why, exactly, the first years cannot be on the field. How are we supposed to practice if we cannot even touch the Quidditch field?"

The Colonel did not look pleased. "You'll start flying lessons in a week or two," he said, turning to the Gryffindor captain. "Now get in the stands or get off the pitch."

But Troy wouldn't budge. "Now just a moment, sir, my parents had me on a broom before I could walk. I've been playing junior games for years now, and been to every Quidditch camp around _every _summer. I can play better than any man on your team, I swear it," said Troy emphatically.

Colonel Whizbanger was turning red and shaking a little. Logan gulped and felt Raneg slide lower into his seat on the bleachers. The Gryffindors, meanwhile, were pushing their way further towards the two and many were backing up Troy.

"I've been riding since I was six," provided one of the boys.

"Yeah, I could fly in my sleep, I don't need lessons," said another.

"This is not up for discussion!" shouted the Colonel. "It's too dangerous and most eleven year olds don't know how to fly, despite your prodigious upbringing Mr. Troy."

"But sir, if I could just demonstrate that I know what I'm doing-"

"It wouldn't matter because _first years aren't allowed on the pitch_!" said Colonel Whizbanger, who was now red enough to rival a tomato.

"Sir, please, if I could just show you my skills I know that you would agree that I can out-fly any man on this field," said Troy to the disgruntled looks of the Quidditch team who had formed around their coach.

Colonel Whizbanger looked from Troy to the eager Gryffindors before grabbing a broom from one of his boys and holding it out to Troy.

"Alright Mr. Troy, let's see what you can do," he said. Troy gave him a big smile full of perfect white teeth and kicked off without a word of thanks. Logan saw the brown haired girl gasp and clutch her friend's arm as Troy turned in midair and dove around one of the hoops, far too fast for Colonel Whizbanger's comfort, who was looking concerned but admittedly impressed at the display. For the first time that evening Logan wished he could fly like everyone else.

A smattering of Gryffindors had been given brooms and flew up to join Troy. The look of admiration dropped from the coach's face and he blew the whistle hanging around his neck violently.

"Congratulations Mr. Troy, you weren't exaggerating," said the Colonel to Troy who was puffing for air. "However, you can't be on the team until you reach your second year, rules are rules. Now all first years, get off of my field," he ended.

Troy didn't even hand the broom back to it's owner but threw it down like a little child who wouldn't be granted an ice cream. He stormed off the field leaving his friends to catch up with him.

"Troy, that was fantastic!" cheered Regulus, who was the only of the three that knew just how well their friend had flown.

"Doesn't matter, the _Colonel_ won't let me fly," whined Troy.

"He was impressed at your flying, mate, if it weren't for those stupid rules-"

"If it weren't for those stupid Gryffindors ruining my spotlight that coach would have thrown the rulebook straight out the window," said Troy.

"Yeah, well, at least you showed him up, with him doubting you and all," said Regulus.

"I never exaggerate," said Troy, causing Regulus and Logan to exchange looks.

The four of them plodded through the Great Hall leaving a trail of mud from the door to the staircase where Peeves was swinging on a chandelier, causing crystals to fall on the heads of students walking by. One landed on Logan's forehead, leaving a dent. He chased the poltergeist in circles, dirty footprints following him.

"Oooh, ickle firsties tromping mud all over Filch's clean floor! I wonder how he'd feel about that? Let's go and ask him shall we?" said the poltergeist zooming around the hall.

"Shove it, you bleater," said Troy. He chucked one of his muddy boots at Peeves which, rather than contacting with the ghost, flew straight at the wall and left a muddy print six feet up.

"Run!" yelled Regulus as Peeves sped away cackling and calling for the caretaker.

"Don't run downstairs, run upstairs," said Logan as an idea formed in his head. "We can trail around and take the maze back to the common room."

"Right, brilliant," said Regulus swerving to follow Logan. The boys could hear Filch's outrage at the state of the Great Hall.

"No, no, no, go left," hissed Logan, trying to keep quiet.

All four boys crammed into a closet filled with only cobwebs and old bedpans. It was a tight squeeze with the tall Ebony and Regulus, both of whom stooped into uncomfortable pretzels while Logan and Raneg sat on the chamber pots. Logan was glad to note they were clean aside from a thin layer of dust.

Through the door they watched as Filch's shadow ran past their hiding spot followed by the smaller shadow of his cat, Mrs. Norris. They waited a few moments before Troy called out, "I think it's clear."

The majority of mud had been transferred from their boots to the floors, so as the boys jogged back to the dungeons they felt free and clear from Filch's punishment. As they passed the Great Hall once more Logan caught the eye of the Gryffindor students returning from the Quidditch field. They were looking around at the muddy room with amusement, especially the footprint on the wall.

"Didn't get enough flying in, 'eh Troy?" said one of the boys smugly.

Troy clenched his fists but ignored the boy, walking straight back to the dungeons. Regulus and Raneg had already headed down and into the labyrinth but Logan hesitated. The Gryffindors were trailing just as much mud as Logan and his friends had been, and Filch was waiting in the direction of their quarters. If he were to warn the brown haired girl maybe she would consider hanging out with him. Instead of following Troy to the dungeons Logan turned on his heel and went back up the staircase.

_Just go and get her name. That's easy right? Just ask her what her name is,_ Logan thought to himself, _and tell her to watch out for Filch. _

But they reached Gryffindor's corridor before Logan had the chance to warn the girl about Filch's rampage. He must have been searching in another part of the castle. Every student but her had passed behind life-sized portrait of a fat lady in a pink gown.

"Wait!" he called. She turned around but Logan had a sudden loss of words.

"What's your, I mean, I'm, ah, my name's-" and before he could get his question out a fuming Filch ran up, pointing at her muddy shoes.

"Ha, I've got you now!" said Filch grabbing the Gryffindor girl's arm. "Running around the castle, trailing mud everywhere. Thought you'd get away with it, didn't you!"

"I didn't get mud everywhere," she said indignantly. She pointed to Logan. "He and his _Slytherin _buddies did."

Filch looked at Logan's now dirt free boots before calling her on her 'bluff'.

"You can't fool me, missy. You and your friends are getting detention for this mess! You'll be scrubbing bathrooms for an entire Saturday," he said, stomping off to arrange the detention with Gryffindor's head of house.

The girl was now starring at Logan with a look of absolute reprehension. It was not the look Logan had wanted to see on her face.

"You, you prick! You will never forget the name Acacia Stevens!" she cried out before slamming the portrait of the fat lady in his face. Logan stood in front of the portrait, stunned, while the fat lady fixed her hair, complaining of ungrateful first years.

"At least I got her name," muttered Logan before descending towards the Slytherin dungeons.

Later, slumped in a velvet armchair in the Slytherin common room, Logan replayed the event to his friends. He left out the main motivation for the trip, instead claiming he only wanted to warn the Gryffindors.

"Ha, ha! That was brilliant mate," said Regulus, slapping Logan's shoulder. "I only wish it was my brother that Filch caught."

Raneg was laughing into his book although Troy only looked worried.

"Are any of you a size nine and a half?" he asked. Logan couldn't help but smile as Troy limped back to the boy's dormitories, an inch taller on his left foot than his right.

* * *

_Please review!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Usual disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, ect. The story is OC centric, and I own my OC's. Please don't use them without my permission. _

* * *

Fortunately the rest of the week was less eventful for Logan and his friends, which is not to say it was a dull one. Their week was packed full of new classes, each of which was more gripping than the last, and the boys found themselves lacking sleep from all the new excitement and homework.

There was Transfiguration which was taught by Professor McGonagall, the head of Gryffindor house. Logan would have surely failed the class in the very first month if it weren't for his new friend Bertram, who Logan greeted every afternoon with extreme gratefulness, as Logan had absolutely no talent in turning cat whiskers into toothpicks. In fact Bertram was talented in every class, or so it seemed to Logan, who also saw his friend in Potions class (Logan's favorite class) where Bertram needed no reciprocated help in producing a potion for the removal of yellow toenail fungus.

"Yours does look better than mine, I think. It has a distinctly greener sheen," Bertram did said of Logan's potion. The Slytherin boy agreed, although Bertram's potion worked perfectly well on Colonel Whizbanger's toes.

"Very good, lad," the coach bustled through his mustache, "ten points to Ravenclaw, one for each toe!"

There was even a class taught in the middle of the night. The boys would put their robes on over their pajamas and haul heavy brass telescopes up to the astronomy towers where an owl-eyed Professor Noxus waited in the dark. During one lesson she'd set the students up with their star charts before going inside the castle to use "the little witches room" and in her absence Troy pulled several bottle rockets from his robes. Regulus aimed them at the Gryffindors' tower but not a single firework made it through the windows.

The most boring class by far was History of Magic. It was a class was taught by the most uninteresting ghost to roam the planet, Professor Binns, whom Logan thought was doing a very good job at haunting the students.

"There can be no way that he hasn't killed someone yet. His classes _must _have bored someone to death by now. It isn't physically possible to listen to him for a whole seven years," said Logan with a yawn. He'd awoken at his desk under the assumption that Regulus had put a sticking charm on him, but Logan's face was plastered to the desk solely by his own sweat and drool. He peeled his skin off the sticky surface with a loud _slurp_, leaving a pink mark across his cheek.

"I don't think he has yet, no one in their right mind would take him for seven whole years. That's suicidal," said Regulus, who had indeed put a sticking charm on Raneg's desk and was anxiously waiting for the boy to wake up.

"You mean we can drop History of Magic?" asked Logan, a touch excited. He liked the naps but they would be much more comfortable in the Slytherin common room.

"After you get your OWLS you only take whatever classes you want to, but that isn't until sixth year. Trust me, I don't think anyone has taken an advanced history course in centuries," said Regulus. He then poked Raneg in the side who woke with a jump and a cry as his face remained firmly attached to the table top.

"You tosser," said Raneg to a smirking Regulus. Raneg had added many new profanities to his repertoire since meeting his English buddies.

It would turn out that Ebony Troy was the only person who actually enjoyed History of Magic class. Instead of writing the assigned homework Troy would write long parchments full of stories he'd made up over the goblin wars or mermish treaties or the like.

Oddly these were so well received that it was not uncommon to hear Troy leave the class saying something like, "Professor Binns must really like my work-look he gave me top marks! Don't think Gerfwiff the Wicked ever invaded Poland over a misplaced burrito, but what have you." Logan became rather jealous as none of his made-up stories sounded correct enough to Professor Binns.

However for Logan Piers the worse class in the world was not History of Magic. It was Defense Against the Dark Arts. A class that was among the most popular subjects discussed in the Slytherin common room.

"This is the class for the black magic?" Raneg had asked the night before their very first class.

"You bet frog-boy," said Regulus. "We get to learn about all the 'bad magic' that we aren't allowed to use. Why even have the class if they don't want us using what they're teaching us?"

"The class is about protecting yourself, but if you're intelligent enough you could pick up a spell or two," said one of the other Slytherin students, a boy by the name of Oren Selwyn. He was only a year older than them but he held his back in a stiff royal manner when talking to the first years, as if he was much better than they were. His long gold-blonde hair was pulled back so tightly that it lifted his lips into a constant sneer.

"Well this year we have Professor Avariche and he let us practice the Bat-Bogey hex on our first day," said Dolohov, a large fifth year with arms the size of tree trunks.

"Bat-Bogey hex, big deal. Avariche will never let us get to the good stuff, he just wants us to practice," said Selwyn working to keep his voice calm. He knew better than to antagonize a fifth year, especially one as big as Antonin Dolohov.

"In my country we are taught all magics regardless of restrictions. My people believe it is important to know all knowledge, and that magic is only dangerous in dangerous hands," said Raneg.

Dolohov laughed. "Yeah, Avada Kedavra is only dangerous in the _wrong _hands," he said.

"Well bully all for you, Ranney boy, why don't you just go back to frog-land?" taunted Troy.

"I am not from frog-land," said Raneg with scorn in his voice.

"We have our own ways of learning what we need to know, right Dolohov," said Selwyn mysteriously.

"Watch your mouth, Oren," said Dolohov who then left with an angry look in Selwyn's direction.

None of the other Slytherins in the common room seemed remotely interested in the exchange, but perhaps none had been listening to their conversation. Logan shared quizzical looks with his three friends, but none of them dared to bring the topic up again. The boys retired to their four-poster beds with questions stirring about their skulls.

Friday morning Logan awoke bright and early thanks to Troy's alarm clock, though he would have slept in given a choice. During the night a low croaking sound from Raneg's corner had kept him awake for far too late in the evening. Regulus Black looked up from his pillow with a pair of black shadows under his eyes that matched Logan's.

"I wonder what Selwyn was talking about," Logan muttered as he readied himself for the morning. Regulus was soon up and the boys went to breakfast together, trudging listlessly to the Great Hall.

"Double Dark Arts today," said Regulus raising his eyebrows.

"With the Gryffindors," replied Logan who suddenly didn't feel like eating.

"Can I have your sausages? Thanks," said Regulus once it was obvious that Logan was not going to eat them.

"I'm not feeling well. Maybe I should go see Madam Pomfrey," said Logan looking apathetically into his bowl of porridge.

"You're just nervous about that Stevens girl. It isn't like we didn't notice you watching her at every meal," said Regulus. He licked the grease from his fingers before starting on his eggs.

"I don't watch her, she just gives me these looks now and again. I don't think she's forgotten about what happened on Monday."

"Pass the pepper would you? No, I don't suppose she has. Every so often she gives you these death glares. I mean, if looks could kill…"

"She's going to murder me," whined Logan, slumping further into his bowl.

"Well she is only a girl. You needn't be worried about a girl beating you up, should you?"

"Great, the final insult. Death by girl." Any further down and Logan's face would be covered in porridge.

"Well look on the bright side mate, you can learn how to hex her today in Dark Arts," said Regulus, putting his fork and knife in the center of his empty plate.

"We're in the same class so she's going to learn the same hexes." Both boys stared at their plates, one full and one clean. Regulus rubbed the remaining sleepers from his eyes.

"I have to go get Troy up, he's got my box of sugar quills," he said taking leave. Logan too, pushed his plate away and stood. He wanted to talk to Bertram before class.

The Ravenclaw table was free of Bertram's presence but Logan was not deterred. He found his friend where he thought he'd be, in a corner of the library surrounded by a mess of old tomes each of which would open with a cloud of dust.

"Bertram, I need your help," said Logan before he could be roped into a lengthy discussion on algae textures.

"Of course, what do you require?" asked Bertram with his head still stuck in one of the tomes. They smelled awful and their parchment was so old that it had turned grey.

"I need you to teach me how to hex somebody," said Logan, and with that Bertram did look up from his readings with a peculiar look on his face.

"Why?" he asked simply.

"Well, there's this girl…" Logan began.

"Are you certain you don't need a potion of sorts, or perhaps an enchantment?" said Bertram. "Girls don't respond well to hexes, it's like pulling pigtails."

"No! She's going to kill me, Bertram! I need to hex her before she can do something awful to me. Like break my nose," said Logan.

"If she breaks your nose come to me straight away. There's a growth charm I've been meaning to try…"

"Do you know how to hex her or not? I mean, I thought you were the most intelligent student in our year, but if you don't know any hexes…you know I've seen Chip Peddy use some hexes even though he's thicker than a baboon's-"

"Alright, just hang on. I have to check these out," said Bertram, motioning to his dusty old books. There were seven total that he refused to leave in the library, declaring that "anybody could come and check them out, and I need them!"

By the time they exited the library that had a sparing fifteen minutes before class began. Enough time to teach Logan the incantation but not enough for any practice.

"It's simple, just wave your wand as so," said Bertram and waved his wand, which Logan imitated with a resounding swish. "Good, good, and then say _Engorgio_, but don't forget to point at your target. I'd avoid the face, unless you want her eyes blowing up."

"Could that really happen?" asked Logan, suddenly concerned.

"I don't know, I've never tried. What are your plans for tomorrow?"

"I'll either be six-feet under in a cold, damp box or hanging out in the common room with Reg."

"Well if you survive I need someone to help me take specimens from the lake. Did you know that there are eleven different types of algae growing on the surface of it's water that will be gone in a few months! If only we had the opportunity to get samples during the summer…"

"Sure thing, Bertram. Now I hope she kills me," said Logan, whispering his last remark. He then hurried off to class and arrived in time to find his friends. Regulus, Troy, and Raneg occupied a table in the back of the room where they'd saved a seat for him.

"Logan, where have you been? We looked all over for you," said Regulus.

"I was in the library, sorry," said Logan. He looked about the room at the Gryffindors and was rewarded with a devil-eyed glare from Acacia Stevens, her beautiful brown eyes so angry that they appeared red. Logan gulped.

"Good morning class, beautiful morning. Let's see here, I have a list. I know I have a list," said Professor Avariche strolling to the front of the class. He did not look like an impressive sort of man, dressed solely in colorless robes of grey and black, but he had a strong chin and youthful looks and his pleasant demeanor put the class at an instant ease.

"You there with the ribbon, would you mind opening the curtains, it's too dark in here. Look how wonderful, we can see the lake. I'll get started on role call and then we can begin the fun stuff! Ahem, Bing, Xui-Li," he called in a joyful baritone.

The list went on until Professor Avariche called out, "Piers, Logan? You wouldn't happen to be related to Hyperion Piers, of Mandrake's Choice fertilizer company would you?"

Logan could hear snickers go up around the room, especially from Acacia Steven's table.

"Yes, he is my uncle," said Logan reluctantly.

"We'll call it fate! Your uncle dated my sister when they were students here at Hogwarts. Do tell him Francis says hello next time you see him," said Professor Avariche with a laugh.

"Yes, Professor," said Logan. He could hear a new nickname in the making from Acacia as she mouthed the words "dung-boy" to her friends.

As the Professor finished the list he patiently asked the class to be silent. "I would like to welcome you first years to the most important class you'll be taking in school, Defense Against the Dark Arts! This class could save your lives one day, not that I wish for any of you to be in such circumstances, but it is my goal for each of you to know the most common and useful hexes, jinxes, and yes, curses and their counters so that you may protect yourself against evil-doers. I myself am a doer not a talker, so we will be starting on simple jinxes today! We'll need some volunteers, how about my near-family member, Mr. Piers, and, yes, you Miss, the exuberant girl in the front," said Professor Avariche, making Logan's heart sink. The Professor had unwittingly chosen Acacia Stevens to perform a jinx on him.

The two rose and met at the front of the class. Acacia grinned at him in a way that Logan was certain in no way resembled happiness. She was eager to get revenge.

"We'll be starting with an easy Knockdown Jinx if you two would watch the motion of my arm, Mr. Piers, Miss? Miss Stevens. And intone, _flipendo_!" said the professor. He watched Logan and Acacia mimic his movements. "Raise your wrist higher Miss Stevens," he added helpfully.

"Like this, professor?" she asked.

"Yes, perfect. Alright than, let's begin kids. If you will go to the right Miss Stevens, and wands ready. On the count of three I want you to each have a go at it.

"One," said Professor Avariche. Acacia's eyes crinkled at him.

"Two," and Logan felt his palms grow sweatier by the second.

"Three," said the Professor with a shout of finality. Acacia's wand arm came down faster than Logan's.

"_Flipedo_!" she cried as a gust of energy came straight for Logan's chest.

"En-_bahr_-gio," Logan fumbled as he was hit in the ribs. The spell spewed from his mouth rather than the newly introduced Knockback Jinx.

His spell hit Acacia in her face and upon impact she began honking through her nose. Logan could hear her as he picked himself up from the floor.

"HOOO-what di-Oonk you do to m-ooonk?" she forced from her mouth.

"We all get a little excitable in these situations, perhaps I shouldn't have had first years dueling," flailed Professor Avariche as he helped Acacia up. "Stupid idea really, can one of you take Miss Stevens to the hospital wing?"

"He di-Oonk this on-Nk purpose," she said pointing a finger at Logan, who was trying his best to stay away from the thrashing girl.

"Oh I'm sure he didn't mean to do this, Miss Stevens, accidents happen. Why just yesterday I had a sixth year blow up my potted rhododendrons. At least I hope that was an accident. Goodness, I don't think Mister Piers even knew what he was saying; I've never seen a spell like this before," said Professor Avariche clamping down on Acacia's nostrils.

Logan's three friends were giving him the thumbs up, Professor Avariche was beckoning to one of the Gryffindor girls to come help him, and the rest of the class had erupted into chaotic laughter. Acacia let out her loudest honk yet.

"Thank you, Meredith, tell Poppy we were practicing Knockback jinxes, it might help," said the Professor. He handed Acacia over to a girl with a red blazer before turning back to the class. "Perhaps I was a tad too eager to have first years practicing dark magic, heh heh. Mr. Piers please take your seat, and everybody let's begin anew with our textbooks shall we? Open to page four of _Hexes and their Counterparts_ class."

The class grumbled while Logan walked back to his seat, getting several jeers from his fellow students. But it was Acacia Stevens, now exiting through the door, that caught his eye. She made a cutting motion across her neck.

"HOoonk," she said before the door closed. Logan could only guess as to what she really said to him, but none of his theories put his mind at ease.

"You just sealed your fate Log, now she's sure to kill you," said Regulus as Logan slouched next to him.

"You don't have to remind me, I know," said Logan. He opened up his book to page four and worked on drowning out Professor Avariche's voice.

Later that night, in the Slytherin common room, Logan flopped comfortably onto an empty couch looking out at the glowing green waters of the loch.

"Now _that_ is more than six feet deep," he said to himself. For a moment he wished Bertram were with him so he could tell Logan about all the critters scuttling across the sand.

"We're going out for a minute, want to come?" said Regulus, bringing Logan out of his head.

"It's almost curfew, where are you guys going?" asked Logan.

"We're going out to find Mrs. Norris; McGonagall told me I needed to do a little extra work this weekend on my Transfiguration homework," grinned Troy, pulling a black mask over his face.

"I forgot the pliers!" cried Regulus. He ran back to their dormitory.

Even Raneg was covering his face in black paint, not that such a thing was unusual for Raneg.

Seeing his three friends run around like lunatics and working so hard at their authentic cat-burglar outfits made Logan realize that he had no need to pout over Acacia Stevens. She might not ever be his friend, and certainly never his girlfriend, but he had three willing accomplices to spend time six-feet under with, and that was more important than a girl who wanted him to have double detention.

"You know, I never thought I'd meet a cat I didn't like, but I'm going to make an exception for Mrs. Norris," said Logan. After all his friends would need him to get out of this mess alive_. _

* * *

_I think that engorgio was a charm, and not the engorgio skullus hex but I only meant to use the engorgment charm even though Logan asked Bertram for a hex. Whatevs. Review Please!_


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